


Flying High

by eyemeohmy



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fanboying up the ASS, Fluff and Smut, M/M, NERDS ABSOLUTE NERDS, Smut, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19120072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: "Fly?" Drake's eyes widened. Wait--they were in an airplane hangar. Andwait--if this flying object had been one of Launchpad's passion projects, that could only mean... "Oh... my Darkwing." He dropped his briefcase, chewing excitedly on his fingertips. "It... It can't be. You didn't."





	Flying High

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt by my friend, Baba:
> 
> "So for a prompt in the original series Launchpad actually made the Thunderquack plane for Darkwing and so what if Launchpad does the same for Drake in 2017 as a present since he's heroing now and thank you smooches for the gift??? MAYBE CANOODLING IN THE COCKPIT OF A FAN MADE ACCURATE COPY OF THE THUNDERQUACK MAYBE."
> 
> As usual, please pardon any grammatical errors.

"Launchpad!"

Launchpad jolted, nearly falling off his ladder as his garage door was thrown open, breaking off a hinge.

Drake stomped inside, briefcase in hand. "I'm sorry I'm so la..." He stopped, looked at the busted door. "... Ah. Sorry; kind of a habit these days."

Launchpad laughed. "S'no problem, DW--er--Drake," he said.

Drake sighed. "I spent almost an hour talking down some wasted frat boys from lighting two crates worth of fireworks off in their dormitory for fun."

"Yeesh." Launchpad shook his head. "I did that once. Nooot a fan. But the nurse who bandaged my burns was really cool."

Drake blinked before just now noticing the giant object in the middle of the hangar. It was covered by a heavy brown tarp, requiring a ladder for Launchpad to access the top. "Is this the surprise you were talking about?" Drake asked, pointing at aforementioned surprise.

"I was tryin' t'show you yesterday, but you had to run," Launchpad explained. "But yup! This is the surprise. Truth be told, I was workin' on it way before I met ya, but then work kinda got in the way an' I just never got around to finishin' it." He hopped down from the ladder. "I was only gonna fly it for fun every now and then--"

"Fly?" Drake's eyes widened. Wait--they were in an airplane hangar. And _wait_ \--if this flying object had been one of Launchpad's passion projects, that could only mean... "Oh... my Darkwing." He dropped his briefcase, chewing excitedly on his fingertips. "It... It can't be. You didn't."

Launchpad beamed. "I sure did!" he exclaimed. He grabbed the tarp and yanked it off. "May I present: the Thunderquack 4.0!"

Drake gasped, all his feathers standing on end. The Thunderquack looked damn near identical to the one in the show. The design, the colors, the toothy scowling bill, everything.

Drake promptly fainted. Launchpad yelped, looking back at the plane. He, too, was suddenly overwhelmed by his handiwork and collapsed on top of Drake with a swoon.

Drake squeaked, waking up once Launchpad dropped on him. "L-Launchpad," he coughed, snaking out a trapped hand and shoving the larger bird off.

Launchpad sat upright. "Wha--"

Drake grabbed Launchpad by the lapels of his jacket, shaking him. "You did it! You did it, you brilliant bird! You actually recreated and built a fully operational Thunderquack!" he cried, giddy as a duckling. "... Wait. Did you say... 4.0?"

Launchpad laughed weakly, scratching a cheek. "Eh... There were a few earlier attempts. Never got 'em right until now." Which was a bit of a lie. Version 3.0 had worked just fine, but he crashed it almost immediately after flying it out of the hangar. While that may have had something to do with his less than stellar piloting skills, the design was flawed, because the Thunderquack was built to take a beating and keep on flying. That one... did not.

"This is amazing, LP!" Drake shouted, gesturing to the plane. "I-- I could kiss you so hard right now I'd suck all the air outta your body until you suffocated!"

Launchpad blinked, still smiling. "Cool!"

Drake winced. "No, ah, that came out wrong. What I mean to say is--" He lunged on top of Launchpad, pinning him down with a rough, grateful kiss. And Launchpad was all too happy to reciprocate, embracing the small duck.

Drake abruptly broke the kiss, rushing over to the Thunderquack. “I love it I love it I love it,” he squealed, running in exhilarated circles around the plane, “it’s perfect it’s flawless it’s like it just came off the old show’s set it’s incredible it’s like all my dreams are coming true can I touch it? Oh my mallard, it feels so smooth so sleek and so wow! The paint job is breathtaking right down to the finer details holy cow I could just look at this baby all day and I haven’t even gotten to its insides!” He stopped in front of the Thunderquack, hugging the giant bill and nuzzling against the cool chassis.

“Sooo,” Launchpad said, standing and brushing off his rear, “you like it, right?”

“Like it?” Drake gasped, throwing his arms up. “I love it! If it were a sentient, sapient, consenting being, I would marry it!”

Launchpad couldn't help but feel a slight pang of jealousy, but who could blame the little guy? Even he was in awe of his masterpiece. "Now we'll get around St. Canard and Duckburg a lot faster. Cruisin' the skies for bad guys. Just like DW!" He blushed. "Just like you."

Drake blushed too, grinning crookedly. "But I can't fly it," he insisted, walking over to Launchpad and placing a hand on his arm, "not without my co-pilot." He shrugged. "That and I... don't have a license."

"Of course I'll pilot the Thunderquack!" Launchpad said. "I mean, we're partners, right?"

Drake squeezed Launchpad's hand. "Yeah," he sighed dreamily, Launchpad leaning down, "partners." The two kissed, Launchpad bending back a leg. 

Launchpad stepped back, giving Drake's forehead a little beak nuzzle. "You wanna check out the inside?" He produced a key from his jacket pocket, swinging the chain around a finger.

Drake bottled his excited scream into a quiet but high pitched trill, practically vibrating. "No!" he blurted. Launchpad was shocked. "No, no. Hold on. We gotta make this perfect." He picked up his briefcase, flashed the larger bird a smirk, and disappeared behind the Thunderquack.

"Is something wrong?" Launchpad asked, confused. "I just finished polish--"

Sudden purple gas poured over the plane; Launchpad gasped, stumbling back.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the waiter of justice well served! I am...!" With a flap of his cape, Darkwing Duck stood on top of the Thunderquack in a threatening pose. "Darkwing Duck!"

Launchpad gaped. His eyes started to water, and then roll back into his head. Before he could fall over, Drake was at his side, holding him up. Launchpad immediately snapped to, grabbing Drake by the shoulders. "How'd you do all that so fast!" he exclaimed.

"A lot of practice," Drake gloated. "But before the gas evaporates!" He shoved his cellphone in Launchpad's hands, scrambling back onto the Thunderquack's bill. "Get a picture, get a picture!" He stood to the side, one hand on his hip, the other holding out his cape. Looking both intimidating and smug.

Launchpad fumbled with the phone, nearly dropped it. He quickly started snapping photos with Drake alternating poses. When the gas finally settled, Drake hopped back down and joined his partner, taking the phone.

Drake flipped through the photos. "Half of these have your thumb in them," he said, "but there's a couple good shots! This one, annnnd this one, and--oh, gee." He laughed, showing Launchpad the phone--the final picture was of Drake sliding down the side of the Thunderquack, rear and tail up in the air. "Caught my elegant side perfectly!"

Launchpad laughed. "Yeah," he said, eyes following Drake as he went back to the Thunderquack. "Sorry for the goof." He licked his bill, staring at the photo. "Hey, uh... wouldja mind if I--"

"Texted the photo to yourself?"

Launchpad tittered.

Drake glanced back at Launchpad over his shoulder. "Just make sure that one doesn't get leaked to the public, okay?" He tipped his hat down, winking. Launchpad's heart nearly stopped beating, but he finally managed to send the photo.

"Now that I'm in my _proper_ attire," Drake said, fixing the back of his mask, "let's get--"

"Dangerous?"

"Inside, actually."

"Oh. That makes more sense, yeah."

Launchpad kicked down the step ladder, moving back so Drake could get inside first. Drake gave him a kind curtsy with his cape and climbed in. The cockpit was just as Drake imagined it'd be--a perfect replica of the Thunderquack's console of screens and buttons and levers. More control panels and gauges lining the walls. Two comfortable leather seats with yellow cushioning. There was extra room in the back for supplies or transporting criminals and/or civilians.

Before Launchpad went inside, he stopped to watch Drake. He examined every nook and cranny, every small detail with such awe and adoration. His eyes were starstruck. Launchpad's heart swelled with love and pride. Drake, the mallard he'd fallen in love with, as well as Darkwing Duck, valued, appreciated, and admired all his hard work.

Launchpad couldn't really ask for more.

Drake giggled, poking the bobbling head of the dash mounted Darkwing Duck figure. "A perfect final touch to complete a perfect job."

Launchpad shook his head. "Before the movie was cancelled, they were about to release the first wave of toys," he explained. "That Darkwing is the Darkwing from the film."

Drake felt his eyes tear up again. "Yeah... It is," he said, softly, scooping up the little bobble-head. He smiled, sniffing and poking the toy. "It's me." He held it up to Launchpad, struggling not to break out the waterworks. "Look, LP. I'm a... I'm a tooooy..." His voice trailed off into a whiny little whimper, as he could no longer stop the--

Launchpad reached over, embracing Drake in a very tight bear hug. Drake gasped, eyes bulging comically. "S'cool and all, yeah," Launchpad said, placing the bobble-head back on the dashboard. "But not when I got the real thing right here." He poked Drake in the face, as if he expected his head to also bobble.

Drake snickered. "You sure do," he said, leering, "got me right where you want me."

"Just you and me."

"In this cozy, intimate cockpit."

"My hand stroking my thigh."

"That's my hand, LP."

"Ah, so it is."

Launchpad grunted, thrown back into his seat when the smaller, much more agile bird straddled his hips and practically smashed their bills together in an enthusiastic kiss. Perhaps the most intense Launchpad ever had; it was coming from Darkwing Duck, like Hell he would have it any other way. Launchpad threw off his hat and blindly but expertly pulled the lever on the seat, dropping it back into a reclining position. 

Drake bounced at the sudden movement, kiss breaking and beaks slapping. They both chuckled, Drake stretching out on top of his partner, burying his bill into the side of his neck. Gently nipping and preening the white feathers. Launchpad hummed, arms loose around Drake. He plucked off the wide brim and crooked hat, leaning in to rub cheek to cheek, forehead to forehead, and bill to bill.

Drake clasped the nape of Launchpad's neck softly, guiding his head down. He nosed his beak into the downy red hair, taking in the scent--grape? Strawberries and cream? What was that? Something fru--

Launchpad was absurdly keen when it came to all things Darkwing Duck. He said, "Darkwing Duck Bubble Trouble Berry shampoo? Oh, yeah. Home brewed." He waggled his eyebrows. "First couple batches turned my hair blue and I had bald spots for weeks, but I've finally perfected the patent."

Drake blinked, astonished. "That's... incredible." While he was genuinely impressed, he was also a bit... conflicted. But then Launchpad reached up to thread and stroke his fingers along the plumage on the duck's head, giving one very curly feather a light tug, and the masked mallard was a trembling, blubbering mess.

"Maybe I'll have you whip me up a couple bottles," Drake cooed, caressing Launchpad's forehead.

"Oh, yeah! Happy to!" Launchpad said and then squeezed Drake's tail and ass. Drake jumped, reactively kicking back a leg, heel slamming on the steering wheel that made a perfectly timed honking noise.

Launchpad immediately let go. "D-Did I do something wrong?" he asked, hands in the air.

Drake coughed into his fist, quickly turned his ashamed face away. "Oh, no, it... I just." He looked around the plane. "Well, I mean, I really am... interested. Yet, I don't want to make a mess. Of the cockpit, that is; I have ten identical copies of my suit back home."

Launchpad thought a moment. "Er, I was gonna christen it with a bottle of champagne anyway," he explained. "I figured we could both do it. You christen the outside, I christen the inside!"

Drake cocked a feathery brow. "I... don't think breaking a glass of champagne on the console is a good idea."

"Well, of course I was gonna clean it up right after."

Drake smirked. "... Or maybe." He raised a finger, a figurative light bulb switching on above his head. He crawled off of Launchpad with a little help and limb flailing and climbed back outside. Launchpad peeked his head out, curious. 

"We can use this," Drake suggested, holding up the tarp, "to cover the interior! Sure, it won't be the most comfortable, but it'll keep... things... from getting into... things..."

"Don't worry," Launchpad reassured, "I got your back!" He popped open a spare compartment, removing a roll of condoms and bottle of lube.

Drake's head snapped back in alarm, neck cracking. "I would ask, but... I'm really not that different, obviously." He tittered, looking at the tarp in his hands.

Launchpad hopped out of the plane, gave a loud "wagh!" after nearly landing on a knee, regained his balance. He picked up the other side of the tarp, and Drake grinned. "Works just fine for me, DW!"

"Thanks, LP."

"It would not be the first time, either."

"On... On this one?"

Launchpad smiled. After a pause, he shook his head once. "No."

Drake shrugged, and the two hurriedly went to covering the insides of the Thunderquack with the tarp. It certainly wasn't very sexy, but it was hygienic and safe--for the cockpit. The two stood in the space behind the seats, arms akimbo, pleased with their work. They gave each other approving nods and then Launchpad unfurled the roll of condoms.

The two returned to their positions back on the reclined pilot's seat, Launchpad stripped of his jacket, pants and Splatter Phoenix themed boxers. Drake remained in full Darkwing attire; although the hat kept getting in the way of kissing, he left it on, askew. He poured over Launchpad stretched out on his back, breathing heavily as his partner spread him open on two lubricated fingers. Drake had applied the condom, and in return, stroked Launchpad off. The fabric of his suit felt silky smooth on Launchpad's cock, cape blanketing them both.

Drake groaned, wiggling back on the fingers. His cheeks were completely red beneath his feathers, eyes glazed and lidded, bill open to pant. Launchpad had seen many beautiful sights and people in his life, but this look... definitely in his top ten. He leaned up, just a little, to kiss his partner, working his fingers in scissoring motions. Drake gasped in his mouth before clumsily reciprocating the kiss.

"Feel good?" Launchpad asked, kneading fingers on the erect feathers down Drake's neck.

"Yes," Drake swallowed, quivering, "and... and think. Think I'm--I'm ready."

Launchpad removed his fingers, for a moment just watching Drake open the bottle to lather his partner's cock with a couple dollops of lube. Launchpad held Drake by the hips, helping him up onto his knees and positioning him. Chewing his bottom bill, the two met eyes; with a wry smirk, Drake seated himself on Launchpad's cock. 

Only a couple inches before he stopped, wheezing. Just a tad more adjusting--Launchpad patiently massaged his sides. With a deep inhale and exhale, Drake managed another few inches. Half, at least, but it was just enough for both of them. Drake braced his hands against his partner's shoulders, rolling his hips. Launchpad continued holding him by the waist, rising up to meet the duck halfway.

Drake muttered to himself, struggling to keep his eyes open. The first couple of thrusts were slow and experimental, but eventually both birds built a steady rhythm. Drake cupped Launchpad's cheeks, kissing him--much more slowly, deeply. He ground in his partner's lap, his own erection leaving a wet streak along Launchpad's clothed belly.

Launchpad snaked a hand down to grab Drake's cock, giving it a hard tug. He smiled against the mallard's gasp. Drake groaned, bouncing desperately in Launchpad's lap. Just a bit more and he'd almost be completely sheathed. His head spun; he went to kiss Launchpad but bumped his bill against the covered seat instead. Launchpad took advantage of the slip up to smooch the side of his head; he pulled down Drake's hat, holding it in place as they kissed properly again.

Drake sat up to catch his breath; he clenched down on Launchpad, throwing his head back with a moan. Hat finally falling off--an unfortunate casualty, it would be missed, but they continued onward.

"Ooh," Drake whined, "r-river catcher...!"

Launchpad's eyes widened. "River cat--Do you w-want a River Ratcatcher?"

Drake dropped his head forward, licking his bill. "N-No?" he stammered. "It'd be n-nice, but..."

"I bought a fan built blue--blue print of the River Ratcatcher online," Launchpad snarled, thrusting up into his partner.

Drake keened. "Okaybutstill--m-maybe if something happens to the, uh... the..." He grit his teeth, hips wiggling as he ground down. "Things!"

Launchpad yanked on Drake's tail. "Might be f-fun, though. I kinda want-- _hnnnssshoot_ \--one."

Drake pumped his cock in Launchpad's fist. "Kinda--yeah, same, b-but only for--" He clawed at Launchpad's jacket. "Save this for another t-time on my back please!" He fell over, coaxing Launchpad along.

Launchpad understood, laying Drake out on the console. "Yeah," he grunted, "probably n-not a good ti--" He gave a full body shudder as he unexpectedly came, and with a heavy groan, pressed himself against Drake and stayed there.

Drake continued milking the cock as it slowly went flaccid. Fortunately, Launchpad was still jerking him off. "N-Not much longer for me, too," he croaked, legs pulled back and knees bent. He growled, helping Launchpad stroke him, working the top while his partner worked the bottom, once more meeting in the middle. Perfectly timed teamwork.

Drake gave a litany of "oh oh oh"s, eyes rolling back into his head. He could feel his orgasm approaching, starting as pulsing heat in his groin. He was getting dizzier and dizzier, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure, and when he finally did come, he made sure it was into his cape. He'd gotten blood, coffee, mud, and oil stains out of it in the past--cum wouldn't be a problem.

"LP!" Drake cried out, slamming a fist down on the console. Something clicked, and the two went stiff. They looked up as the roof of the Thunderquack slid open. The passenger seat unlocked itself and was ejected out of the ship. Drake and Launchpad screamed, clinging to one another and recoiling as far away as possible. They heard a crash of what sounded like metal buckets, glass, spilling coins, and a rodent's cry. Then the telltale _poof_ of a parachute opening.

"I--I thought the system was shut off!" Drake yelped.

"Must have hit the emergency-emergency button," Launchpad wheezed, "that works even if the ship's engine dies."

"That... actually isn't a bad idea. If the Thunderquack is shut down for whatever reason or the eject levers aren't working, and about to crash," Drake said, amazed, "we can still safely eject ourselves!" He grabbed Launchpad by the face, beaming. "Wonderful, LP! That was super smart! I love it!" He gave him a big, juicy kiss on the forehead.

Launchpad giggled, scratching his bill. "Aw, shucks, DW."

After tidying up, the two decided they would christen the ship with champagne. They just wouldn't break a bottle on it. Instead, the two poured themselves each a glass, clicked them together, took a drink, and dumped the rest on the Thunderquack. After a second passed, they went to obsessively washing the champagne off.


End file.
